Your value is known and my value, as well, is defined, so let our hands hold as a nomogram of functional love through both slopes of ascension and reflections of question.

Roxie’s badger hound, upon finding a pair of placed, laced shoes, had to decided whether to use her olfactory senses to find her vaporised friend or opt for heeding the other doxastic view—that these Converse clones were intently situated for a sunny afternoon chew.

Was my inner dialogue imagining someone else’s scortatory senses say “blew” and “ribbed” instead of “blue” and “ribbon” as the large package was wrapped for her enjoyment—or was it my own twisted thoughts tickling myself pink with temptuous think?

His heart of gold may have ruled his actions, but their intentions rarely resulted in reward, so, in addition to becoming broke—like the inevitable fate of any chrysocracy, he was also left deeply blue.